


(I Really Like) What You've Done to Me

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, College, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: They decide to go to community college. It isn’t a compromise, Stiles doesn’t think. It’s not something they’re forced into. It’s a choice they make based on practicality, sure, but it’s also something they want. It isn’t always idyllic. Sometimes, it is.





	(I Really Like) What You've Done to Me

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "So Into You" by Tamia.

They decide to go to community college. It isn’t a compromise, Stiles doesn’t think. It’s not something they’re forced into. It’s a choice they make based on practicality, sure, but it’s also something they want. The truth is, they could run from Beacon Hills and leave it defenseless against the vagaries of the energy spilling from the nemeton, or they could stay and fight to make it better. Scott’s the first to say he wants to try to stay and heal. After that, it isn’t a question for Stiles, and he’s initially surprised, but Malia and Lydia agree. Perhaps he’s only surprised because he wasn’t paying attention. 

Chris moves in with Melissa and rents his house to them for so little, it’s more like a gift than a service. It’s a six bedroom house once they convert one of the armories, and Liam, Hayden, Mason and Corey sometimes stay over after a long night. Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom like to drop in every now and then, and they invite Malia’s dad and Lydia’s mom because they’re aware they’ve been terrible at keeping them in the loop.

Stiles’ room is next to Scott’s. They’ve talked about getting an adjoining door because they’ve spread their stuff equally through both rooms and have a habit of ending up only in one of them, when the nightmares get bad. They sleep back to back, but Stiles always loves the mornings he wakes up and Scott’s arm is slung over his body, his back pressed along Scott’s torso. Or Scott’s head is on his chest and he’s cradled in Stiles’ embrace. Or they’re lying facing each other legs tangled.

It isn’t exactly platonic, but neither of them seem willing to pull on that thread yet. What they have works for the moment, and that’s more important to Stiles than redefinition. He’s content with warm, soft touches, with seeing the happy look in Scott’s eye when Stiles pulls him in for a too-long hug. 

The first month of living together they all establish ground rules and a roster. Lydia’s color coding is a life saver, based on Stiles’ unsolved mysteries system, and Malia’s logical thinking simplifies things for everyone. They figure out early on that Scott should cook while Stiles cleans, even if that’s not what’s on the chart, because Stiles can’t even scramble eggs, and Scott can make the simplest of oatmeals delicious. Scott insists that he teach Stiles how to make edible food and Stiles is initially going to refuse, but then he thinks about spending a relaxing time with Scott, having his undivided attention, and his selfishness wins out. 

They spend Sunday afternoons together, Scott teaching him the basics, navigating around the kitchen like it’s a shoebox, when really it’s a space fit for a mansion. It seems to be that Scott is always standing in the way of a much-needed utensil, and Stiles needs to stroke a hand over his back as he walks by, or quickly press him against the counter to shuffle into the correct position. He’d feel bad about it if Scott wasn’t worse, caging him in by the breakfast bar as he gets out a wooden spoon, or nuzzling against his side while he acquires their largest pan. 

It isn’t always idyllic. There are the days that Scott won’t speak, and Stiles feels like he’s crawling out of his skin, and Lydia’s staring at the wall, and Malia has retreated into her coyote form, under a bed. Liam comes over with a scratched up arm and blood under his claws, and Hayden’s glare is icy, and Mason looks like he hasn’t slept for days, and Corey’s there somewhere but Mason won’t say. But they make it through them, somehow. 

It’s the eighth week they’ve been living together when Scott comes home with an additional leather jacket and helmet. 

“What is -- what are – why are --- I _refuse_ , Scotty, I refuse,” Stiles says. 

But, “Please” is all Scott has to say, and before too long they’re commuting everywhere by bike. After several trips, Stiles stops praying to a God he doesn’t believe in before each and every sit down and dismount, begins to look forward to wrapping his arms around Scott’s waist. Roscoe sits in the garage for days at a time, and saving money on gas means that Stiles can afford to fix him up with more than duct tape. 

College isn’t easy like Stiles thought it would be. He forgets things sometimes, a kind of self-sabotaging amnesia triggered by pressure and panic. He and Scott get into a habit of noting things down for each other, because even though it hasn’t happened yet, Scott’s worried it will affect him too. Memos on the phone get translated to post-its or scrawled pictures and labels on their dry-erase board after Malia reads an article stating that the physical act of writing works better for memory retention than typing does. 

Lectures are the worst part. Stiles struggles with keeping still, even though he’s been methodical when it comes to taking his meds. He gets distracted with looking at the other students, thinking about the readings, thinking about nothing, and everything in between. In the classes they share, Scott sits next to him and takes notes typing one handed while the other rests on Stiles’ knee, adding pressure when he really needs to be paying attention.

Stiles returns the favor by going with Scott every time he needs to go to the library, keeping snacks on him at all times because Scott burns through fuel faster than he realizes, by encouraging Scott to talk and carefully listening to the words he says and _doesn’t_ say. Sometimes, Scott needs someone to take care of him the same way he takes care of everyone else, and Stiles wants to be that person, his protector. 

Nothing Scott does is out of anger. Stiles should have realized that before, but he was blinded by his own inability to handle negative emotions. Even when Scott should be raging, fierce, _furious_ , he steps back and doesn’t do a thing. Stiles isn’t sure this is always good, especially when one of their classmates plagiarizes a paper Scott worked on for a week and a half and Scott has to provide incontrovertible proof he wasn’t in the wrong. But, he supposes it’s a valid choice. He knows it’s one he’s benefited from.

Stiles and Malia visit that classmate late the next night. Stiles wouldn’t say they terrorize him. Scott probably would.

College isn’t easy, but it’s worthwhile. Stiles finds he enjoys it more than he did High School, that he’s less intent on skipping out. He’s actually interested in half the subjects he’s learning about and some of the professors don’t suck. He isn’t as enthusiastic as Scott, but he never has been. Stiles has visions of Scott as a TA. Only occasionally do they slip into an entirely different kind of fantasy. He isn’t as gifted as Lydia nor as hard-working as Malia, either, but he _has_ been trying. He’s doing better than a passing grade and honestly he’d be happy with that. He has no idea what he wants to specialize in, is concentrating on general studies. 

He used to think he wanted to be a cop, like his dad. He knows he likes helping people, working through puzzles. But he doesn’t know if it’s right for him; the red tape, the yellow and black, the people he can’t save, the people who don’t want to be rescued. 

Halfway through the year, Scott’s lying on his side on the couch watching _Tiny House Hunters_. Stiles lifts his shoulders, sits down, and places Scott’s head in his lap. He immediately brushes his hand through Scott’s hair, plays with the fuzz along his jawline. They’ve spent every single night of the past week sleeping in the same bed and Stiles hasn’t woken up with his heart racing in fear once. 

He thinks they’re coping okay with college, that they’ve settled into a safe routine. And he wants. He _wants_. He’s been thinking more and more about what it’d be like to hear Scott give a sweet sigh against his lips. He’s going to suggest it, offer it into the air, but Corey materializes on the other side of the room and there is no way his second kiss with Scott is going to be with an audience. That’s what happened the first time around, at one of Harley’s parties when they were fifteen, and he still has nights when he can’t get to sleep because he’s thinking about how embarrassing it was.

“How long have you been there?” Scott asks, sounding uncharacteristically disgruntled, like he, too, had designs.

“About twenty minutes,” Corey says, rubbing at the back of his hand. 

“Wanna sit and watch with us?” Scott asks, tone kinder, warmer. Stiles still doesn’t know how he does that, how he puts aside grievances in a breath, in a blink. 

Corey nods and settles on the ground to the left of Scott’s head so he can still see. After five minutes Corey glances at Stiles’ fingers working through Scott’s hair imploringly, so Stiles leans down a bit and scratches lightly against his scalp. Mason finds them like that a half-hour later -- his sunshine smile in response lights up the entire room.

Stiles gets his chance to make his move the following Sunday, as he’s proving to Scott that he has been paying attention and can successfully cook a meal without burning the house down. He settles for a simple vegetable and bean stew with some added kick. It’s perfect because it’s 96 percent hands off and that means he can use his hands for other tasks. Such as slipping around Scott’s middle while he’s preparing dessert. He hooks his head over Scott’s shoulder and peers into the bowl containing the flan mixture. He puts his fingers over Scott’s on the spoon and helps stir.

Scott gives a low hum, sub-vocal and rich. 

“Feels good,” Scott says, quiet, like he doesn’t want to shatter the atmosphere.

“You got any idea what you do to me?” Stiles asks, into the skin of Scott’s neck.

“Uh, yeah, Stiles. I can hear it in your heartbeat, smell it in your scent,” Scott intones, a laugh in his voice. “I know.”

Stiles wants to taste him, wants to pull him tighter, but needs to be sure. “And is it something you want?”

Scott twists in his hold, glances from Stiles’ eyes to his lips twice before answering. He squares his shoulders, widens his stance. Like he’s preparing. “Absolutely.”

Their second kiss is so much smoother than their first was. It’s calm instead of frenzied, coordinated instead of clumsy, chosen rather than forced. It’s warm and exciting and has Stiles craving more. He takes the tiniest of steps back just so he can see Scott’s pink-kissed lips, but Scott reels him close again, kisses with little pecks before gently seeking deeper entry into Stiles’ mouth. 

They stay like that until one of the kitchen timers goes off. Stiles groans and rolls his eyes, can feel the heat under his skin as he turns to add a couple ingredients to his stew, turns down the hot plate. He’s the opposite of smooth as he works. He’s rough. He can feel Scott looking at him, out of the corner of his eye. 

“What?”

“I kinda love this,” Scott says with a shrug. “Domesticity. Feels like I’m living my best life, you know?”

Stiles doesn’t know what complicated expression his face makes, only that Scott gets bashful, shuffling and ducking his head. 

Stiles nudges into his side. “I was always gonna be living my best life if it was by your side,” he confesses. He presses a soft kiss to Scott’s cheek and takes hold of his hand. “I kinda love you.”

It isn’t always idyllic, but there are the times like this when it is. Stiles wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.


End file.
